Glass

"I don't get you."

"What's to get?" I shrugged. We were sitting in the park, we looked pretty clean today so I thought that we wouldn't be stared at too much. It's nice outside, sunny yet the sky had just the right amount of grayish-white clouds. I rested the my head back on the bench we we're sitting on, just letting the warm rays seep in my skin. I love days like this.

"How can you smile so much? I mean, you've been living on the street practically your whole life. Honestly, if I were you, I would have killed myself by now."

I looked over at him, "Really?" I asked.

He stared at me for a moment like he was looking for something on face, or in my eyes, or in my soul. Then he looked away. I didn't know what he was looking for, or if he found it so I just waited. "I think so, yeah." he said.

"That's really sad." I looked away, facing back towards the sun.

He snorted, "I know." then paused like he was thinking really hard about the next thing he was going to say, I just watched the clouds floating by with a small smile on my face. "How, I mean... Just how are you not sad?"

"Who says I'm not?" I didn't look at him, but I knew that he was still staring at me.

"Are you?"

"Right now?"

"Yeah, well anytime..."

"Anytime? Then yeah, I've been sad, especially living out here. But right now? No, I'm actually quite happy. I like days like today. Sunny, and warm, it reminds me of when my mom would take me to the park and we'd just sit on a bench and people watch. And she'd tell me stories about the people we saw. She'd tell me why some looked so angry, and why some looked so sad. And why some look so happy. " I turned towards him on the bench smiling as I talked.

"There was this one time," I went on, "That we watched this man and woman that were walking their dogs bump into each other because they weren't paying attention and she said that they just fell in love. And when I asked how she could tell, she said that the man was looking at the woman like he just remember how to breathe. And the woman was looking at the man like she just remembered how to smile."

"I wish I would've gotten to be able to know your mom," he sighed.

"Yeah," I said. "Met too."

Just then his stomach growled. He groaned staring down at it.

"When's the last time you ate?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Friday, I think?"

"Come on," I said standing up and grabbing his arm pulling him from the bench, "Let's go find something for you to eat. I know this lady that works at a dinner, she'll give us something."

He smiled at me.

~

"Oakley honey!" I smiled hearing Sharron, always happy to see me. I knew it had something to do with her being to be able to see that I'm still alive when I come to see her, but I tried not to think about that.

I walked over to the fifty-year-old woman who's been helping be not starve to death for months now with a big smile on my face. "Sharron, this is my friend, Steven." He smiled shyly, "Steven this is Ms. Sharron, she owns the diner."

"Oh nonsense! Just call me Sharron, dear. It's very nice to meet you Steven." She smiled her big, heartfelt smile and before Steven could even reply she shooed us over to a booth. "Please sit, sit! I'll get you guys something yummy." She said and quickly made her way to the kitchen.

"How do you always meet the most nicest people?" Steven asked once we sat down.

I shrugged. "I came in here one day to wait out the rain, and Sharron immediately approached me and asked me what I wanted to eat." I smiled, "I kept trying to tell her that I didn't have any money to pay for any food, but she just kept insisting that it was on the house." I shrugged again, "And I've been coming here ever since."

Steven sat there staring out the window, watching all the different people walk by. I knew he hadn't been in a diner or a restaurant in a while. Not since he got kicked outside his home for being gay. His parents were honestly one of the most homophobic people I have ever had the displeasure in meeting.

"You came here with your friend right, you know before...." he trailed off.

I cleared my throat, "Uh, yeah. We came here a few times. Sharron adored him. It was pretty funny, sometimes he would get so embarrassed by how much she would coo and fuss over him," I laughed remembering his flushed face. "He'd start blushing and I'd just laugh at him and he glare at me with this most murderous glare." I smiled.

~

I remember some days we'd go to the park and sing and play, you know, for money. I'd sing--not very well mind you--but I'd sing my heart out while he played on this beat up, old Gibson acoustic he'd once traded for his coat. (He was freezing for weeks, but he didn't care because as he'd said: "Now, I have something to let my soul bleed into.")

Those were some of the best days of my life. I just remember sitting there with him singing whatever song we could think of and know most of the lyrics to--or something we'd make up on our own--and we smile at each other. Even on days we didn't make a dime, we didn't really care because of how much fun we'd both have.

That's one of the things I miss the most, enjoying that with him. He was my best friend. I don't really think I knew that at the time, while he was alive. But we were. We were best friends. The kind of friends that wouldn't really fight, but we would bicker sometimes. And we'd just know that we need a few hours, or a day or two away from each other, and then go right back to laughing and talking like we had known each other for our entire lives.

I loved him. Not in a romantic way of course. But in a... Bromance way, I guess. I know you always see those type of relationships on tv and in movies and wonder if they actually do exist. But it did with us. We loved each other like brothers, but we weren't just brothers, because we were each other's best friend.

Sometimes I wonder where he went after he died. My mother was never really that religious or spiritual. I remember her taking me to church sometimes and we'd sit way in the back where no one would notice us. The offering basket--or whatever it's called--never even reached back to us. So I guess that was my mother's way of not feeling guilty for never giving the church any money. I never really understood why they did the whole offering thing, and once I asked her why they passed the basket thing around and if they did that every time. "Oh, yes, they do it every time. A Preacher needs to be able to get food on the table too, honey." was her reply.

And that's when I realized that we didn't have any money to give because we sometimes didn't have any food 'on the table'. And I knew then that all the other people in the church had more money than us. And even at that young age I knew that that was one of the reasons why my mom sat so far back that I could barely hear the preacher talking over the loud fans blowing off to the sides of the pews.

But I still wonder if he went to heaven, if it's there, is that where he went? I mean, I hope so. And I hope to see him there when I die. But I guess part of me is still really worried that he didn't go anywhere. That there is no 'special place'--as my mom liked to call it--for nice, good people to go. And that scares me sometimes. Sometimes it scares me so much that I don't like thinking about it at all. And when I can't stop thinking about it, thinking about him, thinking about my mom, wishing that they both could be here...

I think about taking some kind of drug to help me forget. To help me forget for just a little while, to not have to worry about it anymore. To not have to worry about them. Or me. But I never do it. And I hope I never will. I hope I never get to that point. I know that if Asher and especially my mom were alive today, it would break their hearts if I ever did something like that. And after making all those promises to my mom... I could never do it. I'd feel like I'd be throwing away anything good she or Asher had ever done for me.

Another part of me, a really big part, wishes and hopes--and I guess, prays too--that he and my mom are in heaven. That Heaven does exist. That it isn't just some made-up place to help troubled people sleep at night. And that I will see them there someday, that I will meet them again and we'll all be happy. And that maybe they are both up there waiting for me, watching over me.

Is that too much to wish for? To hope for? To pray for?